


better days are near

by HappyCamper27



Series: you'll come back [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Frisk Needs A Hug, Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Reincarnation, They all need a hug, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyCamper27/pseuds/HappyCamper27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been struggling for so long; and maybe they might give up. Because there's nothing left, and even the power at their fingertips is crumbling.<br/>But they aren't alone.<br/><em>(and maybe, just maybe, that happy ending they've been fighting for is within reach)</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. story of a dreamer

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Temporal Nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317772) by [Kamary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamary/pseuds/Kamary). 



> Sometimes, they dream of red.

Sometimes they’re human. Sometimes they’re not. And sometimes, just sometimes, they’ve found themselves in that weird in-between place that makes them want to breathe _home_ in their soft, whispery not-voice.

Because, in the end, they’re not human. They’re not a monster, either, not really. They’re something else.

And that suits them just fine.

////

They don’t often remember who they _really_ are. Sometimes, they can _feel_ their power, just hovering at their fingertips, just out of reach, but they never realize what it is that they’re reaching for.

They don’t mind though; they sealed that power away for a reason. They can’t help that way, not yet.

Not that they know that, either.

///

Occasionally, _he_ flickers in their periphery. Black and white and skeletal, a twistedly sad smile marring his features, their mind has dreamed up nightmares of _him_ in their many lifetimes.

But the moment their eyes skitter away from his sorrowful visage, the moment they wake up—they forget.  
Almost.

///

They stare at the human magicians, working their multicolored magic to seal away the monsters.

_Purple. (they persevere, so very much, so tenacious—they never did understand why ******* hated them so.)_

_Blue. (loyalty, integrity. That they could stick by their ideals even into death…)_

_Aqua. (patience, the most elusive of virtues. ******* always was bad at it.)_

_Green. (kindness; so very sweet, that gentleness to believe that everything, in the end, could be good at its heart.)_

_Yellow. (justice, pursued to the ends of the earth, consuming all in its path in its hunger to fulfill its own self. Self-destructive motivation—whose justice would you pursue?)_

_Orange. (bravery. Standing one’s ground even in the face of fear; that trait that had ever been holding the hearts of the proud heroes.)_

_Red. (The one thing that pushed all living things, in the end. No living thing could persist without a will, without a determination. But, perhaps, in the end, humans had a powerful grasp of it, no matter what they put it to use for.)_

The magic in the air sends a thrill down their spine, and they turn away.

They cannot bear to see such a gentle, proud race brought so low.

///

It’s red. Red like red magic, shimmering like a heat haze in summer; they miss the smell of that magic, sharp and warming to their very core.

But there’s only iron in the air now, and the sky above is clear, the stars sparkling down.

With a single, bloody hand, they reach upup _up_ towards those stars, ignoring the darkness that pulls at the edges of their vision. A trail of blood traces wetly down their wrist.

They gasp wetly for air, struggling because _they don’t want to die, they’re not ready_ —

Their hand flops limply beside them.

The stars sparkle coldly, their light so far away that they could never hope to be reached.

( _Their body isn’t found for a week.)_

_(They don’t know that, though.)_

///

The hot, spiced smells of Christmas fill their nostrils, and they turn their head up to the sky. It is snowing, the white flakes drifting down lazily. Their tiny body shivers violently, and they shake their heads.

The sooner they get home, the sooner they can get warm in their meager bed and tiny house.

When they get home, their mother is cooking, and they breathe in the warm spicy smell. Their stomach growls, and their mother laughs.

Later, she hands them a small mug of hot liquid, and they breathe in the smell appreciatively. It tastes different from normal. They look at her inquisitively.

“It’s my secret holiday ingredient,” their mother laughs sweetly, ruffling their hair. “Now, finish up. Your father will be home soon, and he expects you to be asleep.”

They tilt their head for a moment, sipping the tea. “What is it?” they ask, finally.

Their mother smiles at them, warm and loving. “Cinnamon; don’t tell your father I bought any. Now, bed!”

_(They don’t see sunlight again, that time. Their father is drunken and violent, and they wake to the panicking feeling of not being able to breathe.)_

///

For as long as they can remember, they’ve lived in a tiny village at the base of a mountain. The villagers whisper of a legend, warning any child brave enough—or foolish enough—away from the high peak.

_Anyone who climbs Mount Ebott disappears._

But their twin, who bears bright red eyes, turns away, setting their feet to that accursed trail.

The villagers whisper _good riddance._

They cry, because now their twin is gone, and their parents are no more kind to them than they ever have been.

They hide away in the bright yellow flowers of their village, breathing in the scent desperately. They are alone, now, more so than ever.

They have become little more than the hated demon’s castaway twin, corrupted and tainted by evil.

When they see the monster, carrying the broken body of their twin, they can’t help the shattering grief that grips them.

Their determination fails.

_(There were more than two children buried that day, in the end. Only one moved on.)_

///

Sometimes, they dream of red.

It shimmers like a heat haze in summer, and smells spicy and sweet, and warms them from the inside. _Cinnamon_ , they think, even though they don’t even know what ‘cinnamon’ is ( _anymore)_.

Sometimes, they dream of yellow.

Yellow flowers that dance in the wind, smelling like butterscotch; blue skies, and red eyes that smirk at them from an identical face.

They miss it, they miss it so much, but life moves on, and they walk through the motions, trying and failing to never miss their steps.

_Yellow. (their justice fails them, in the end. They are consumed by it, and they only know blood and pain on their hands before they continue on.)[their SOUL is taken]_

_Aqua. (they are patient and angry. This whole world—everything, every person every plant every animal—wants nothing more than to see them suffer and crumble. But they are patient. They wait, until they can strike. And when they finally fall, they leave a trail of dust in their wake.)[their sOUL is taken]_

_Green. (they hold out open arms, sweet and gentle, reaching out to those around them. They leave a trail of warmth behind—but even that is not enough to save them from a slip of their feet and a fall that snaps their neck.)[their sO_ **U** _L is taken.]_

_Orange. (they stand their ground, rushing forward with laughter and joy on their lips. But dust like fine flour clings to their shirt as they FIGHT, even in self-defense.)[the_ **i** _r sO_ **U** _L i **s**_ t ** _a_** _ken]_

_Purple. (they don’t fight back. They’re too weak, really. But they weather the attacks, and make it clear that they don’t want to fight. They persevere, but it isn’t enough.)[th_ e **i _r_** _sO_ **U** _L i_ s t ** _a_** k **e** _n]_

_Blue. (they don’t back down. They reach for the tiny glimmer of freedom, refusing to let go. They made a promise, and they’ll keep it—they’ll see their baby sister again, let their big brother hold them in his warm arms and protect them from the wrath of the world. They don’t keep their promise.)[th_ e **i _r_** **_S_** _O_ **U** _L i_ s t ** _a_** k **e** _n]_

///

When they open their eyes again, they are once again nothing more or less than they always have been.

Perhaps they don’t remember what they really, _truly_ are, and perhaps their truths slip through their fingers like smoke; but they are no more or less no than they ever have been.

And if they look out at the stars each night and beg those cold, distant lights for peace in silence—well.

They won’t say anything.


	2. song for the heartsick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Let’s win this game._  
>  They’ll make it right.

They stare at the path ahead of them. They wonder if they should feel… _something_ , but there’s just emptiness. No wonder, no fear for the trail ahead.

Mt. Ebott looms ahead, it’s peak covered in soft, white fog.

They step onto the trail and begin their hike.

They don’t look back.

///

The legend repeats in their head.

_Anyone who climbs Mount Ebott disappears._

It’s almost strangely familiar, and for a moment a flash of yellow overtakes their vision. They shake their head.

They look ahead and keep hiking.

///

The hole yawns before them, a deep abyss of darkness. They wonder—is this the reason why no one ever comes back?

Do they all fall here and die, deep within the recesses of the mountain, trapped? Or do they just disappear? Gone, like ashes in the wind?

They like the sound of the latter idea.

They take a deep breath. They came here for a reason; after all, no one will miss them. They’re nothing but a burden to the people who have raised them.

They step forward onto empty air.

They fall.

///

The flowers are yellow and soft and springy, and they smell like butterscotch. Their eyes open, and for just a moment, they think they can see that red-eyed twin, smirking down at them.

Then the apparition is gone, and they sit up.

They’re alive.

They curl in on themselves. They…really shouldn’t be.

But they are.

Why?  
///

Flowey is terrifying. Adrenaline floods their system, sending a shock of _awareness_ through them as they hold their arms close to their chest.

The flower’s face morphs brutally into a monstrosity, and they flinch back, cradling the glowing heart in their arms protectively.

“DIE.” The flower snarls, it’s fangs dripping.

And then there is fire and a goat-lady who smiles so gently that they can feel themselves relaxing even as the adrenaline makes their limbs heavy with exhaustion.

They follow her through the Ruins, letting themself zone out; yellow flowers keep flickering in their vision, and the sweet-spicy smell of cinnamon and butterscotch won’t stop haunting them.

But they brush it away, and continue. Because maybe, there might be something here for them after all.

( _and maybe, if they’d been paying attention, they would have felt the shifting of another inside their head, soft and sleepy and oh-so-_ familiar _, accompanied by butterscotch.)_

_(and if they had paid attention, they might have realized why the red-heat-haze of their heart—SOUL—was so familiar.)_

_(But they didn’t.)_

///

There’s dust, everywhere. Everywhere, covering them like flour, and they shudder.

Goat-lady—Toriel—was so kind, but hadn’t wanted them to leave. They have to, though, they _have to._

There’s something out there that they have to do, they have to get out; but how they’re going to do that they’re not sure.

So they leave, brushing past that tall door, covered in that fine, fine dust and the weight of the world in their heart.

( _they don’t notice the presence that laughs in the back of their mind, cruel fingers winding into them.)_

///

It’s cold.

There’s white everywhere, and they can’t help shivering as they curl in on themself, their ratty sweater doing nothing to protect them from the icy chill.

But they still walk on.

They can’t— _won’t_ —stop.

///

They meet Papyrus, and Sans.

The two skeletons are so _happy_ , and they can’t help the smile that floods their face when they think of the two funny monsters. But they have to leave, turning their back on the snowy cheer of Snowdin.

They don’t want to. But they have to.

They can’t help remembering the sweet-spicy smell of cinnamon and butterscotch, and the soft hands of Toriel and her calm motherly—

They shake their heads.

They step into the wetness of Waterfall.

///

The glowing stones gleam above like stars, and they lean back, staring up.

“pretty cool, huh, kiddo?”

It’s Sans. The skeleton plops down beside them, grinning. His faded blue jacket looks almost luminescent in the glowing lights.

They nod.

“hey, uh, i wanted to say—thanks, for humoring pap, y’know? means a lot.”

They don’t answer. Sans shifts, looking at them for a moment. Then, they reach up to the stars, and for a moment _hot sticky blood trails down their wrist_. They blink, and it’s gone.

“…stars.”

They say, and Sans blinks.

“uh, come again?”

They just keep staring at the pseudo-stars, and almost-memories of half-remembered nights, staring at the stars through different eyes flicker behind their eyes.

“come on, kid, don’t _patella_ me that you’re _spacing_ out.”

They can’t help smiling, and they look at Sans, dropping their hand. Sans grins even wider.

“so what’re ya doing _skull_ king around out here?”

They pause, and shrug.

They sit there, and Sans sits there too.

( _the dust is still in their sweater, and they can’t help shivering.)_

///

They stare up, up, _up,_ at the twinkling, bright lights littering the sky.

They’re out, they made it.

But something’s not quite right.

They still have dust in their sweater, and something snickers.

_You killed them,_ it mocks. _Not all of them, maybe, but enough. You really do have LOVE, don’t you? Let’s get more. Blood everywhere, doesn’t that sound fun?_

They shake their head.

There’s _something_ at the tips of their fingers, and they _reach_. The presence stops.

_Going back, now? Good._

They reach into that _something_ , and for a single flicker of a second, they see that gray-man with that sad smile, and they see _so much—_

[RESET]

They wake up again, staring at the tiny, grayed out sun above, surrounded by rocks and shadow. The presence laughs.

_Let’s win this game._

They’ll make it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well...this is a little disjointed. But it's supposed to be that way, a little bit.  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. living life in the shadow of a goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“don’t come back. you’re not welcome.”_  
>  The words ring hollowly in their ears.

They’re facing Toriel again.

She’s unhappy, so _sad_ and _unhappy_ , and they just want to reach out to her. But they can’t, because there’s more beyond this door that they have to _set right_.

But then the presence pushes forward, and strikes, right as she’s given in to letting them pass.

She shatters into so much dust in their hands, and the presence laughs.

_Are you ready to play?_

But they’re already reaching back.

Maybe this is how they make things right?

[LOAD]

///

They’ve done it. They’ve spared Toriel.

They’ve left the Ruins; they’ve met Sans.

Things go wrong, again.

They’re caught by Papyrus, who calls over Undyne.

The splatter of blood and the shriek of pain in their chest is all they know before they’re reaching back, tugging at that power again.

[LOAD]

What did they do wrong this time?

///

They stare at the stars. There’s still something wrong.

Asgore’s dust covers their hands, and they tremble, just a bit. This isn’t right. It’s not the right ending.

The presence laughs.

_Going back again? Why don’t you let me take care of everything? After all, they just want to hurt you._

They stare at the dust covering their hands. Their phone rings, but they don’t answer. The vision of Undyne, melting away like wax, flickers through their head.

_Well? What do you say?_

They don’t answer.

[RESET]

///

They’re running from Undyne, their feet slipping over slick rocks.

They slip, and fall.

They barely even feel their neck breaking.

[LOAD]

///

They stay with Toriel, this time. They smile and find a place with the kindly woman— _Queen—_ and are happy.

They ignore the tugging in their chest, and they live there with her, in the Ruins.

But Toriel, despite everything, still has that sad look in her eyes, and they are sure that they haven’t done it right yet. How do they fix everything, make it all right?

The presence doesn’t let it go on forever, though.

They reach forward, dragging at their power forcefully, and _push_.

They don’t want this.

[RESET]

When will they achieve that happy ending they know must be there?

///

“ _don’t come back. you’re not welcome.”_

The words ring hollowly in their ears.

They still haven’t gotten it right.

They switch off the phone, dropping it from limp fingers. They’re so tired—how many times have they _gone back_ , looking for the way to that happy end?

They reach back.

 _One more time,_ they think, but they know it’s a lie. _Just once more._

[RESET]

///

They die, again, to Undyne’s unrelenting fervor for freedom. The spear hurts, and blood spills hotly from their chest.

The presence shifts.

_Are you ready to let me play? We can win, finally._

They think that maybe that’s a _bad idea_ , because the presence just wants pain and blood and dust—but they just can’t bring themself to care anymore.

They close their eyes, and the presence laughs.

They are swallowed by darkness.

[RESET]

///

The presence is going back. Again, and again, and _again._

There are bones, and _blue_.

( _he won’t give up—he can’t afford not to care anymore.)_

But they can barely even remember why they should care anymore, and they’re _so very tired_ —

They reach back. Maybe this time it’ll go better.

[RESET]

///

They barely get a few steps out of the Ruins before there’s blood and pain and _blue, so much blue._

They bury themself deeper into that darkness, not wanting to see.

_(they’ve given up.)_

_(they can barely remember that heat-haze red shimmering, and the sweet-spicy smell of cinnamon.)_

Instead, they sleep, and they dream of yellow flowers under a brilliantly blue sky and of a red-eyed twin who hates the world.

///

 _He_ comes to them, eventually.

They stare at him, at his black-and-white-ness, and he smiles so _sadly_. He reaches forward and takes their hands in his own, and they shiver. He’s cold.

~~_You must wake up._ ~~

They don’t understand.

~~_You must--_ ~~

~~_You must stay determined._ ~~

They shake their head. It hurts too much, they just want to _sleep—_

He squeezes their hands tightly, leaning down and holding them gently.

~~_Wake up._ ~~

~~_Set right what has been broken._ ~~

And then they’re both reaching back, tugging at that _power_ that curls under their skin, and then—

The presence shrieks in rage.

_What are you doing?! I’m winning!_

—they [RESET].

///

Asriel stands before them, overwhelming in his power.

The world is ending.

They can’t [LOAD] or [RESET], they don’t have enough energy.

But maybe…they can save something else?

They reach out and call out to those Lost Souls hidden away within Asriel, fueling his strength.

But no one comes.

Their SOUL shatters.

( _but it refused)_

They call out again, begging.

No one comes.

Their SOUL shatters.

_(but it refused)_

They grab at that power, that lets them push and tug everything back. If they can’t save themself…

They call out, yanking at that power. It resonates around them, and Asriel stops.

“ _What…are you doing?”_

They think of Toriel, of her sweet kindness.

They think of Sans, of his smile and lazy support.

They think of Papyrus, and his enthusiasm and ability to look forward despite the present.

They think of Undyne, and her determination to save the monsters, to set them free.

They think of Alphys, and her strength, despite how much she hated herself.

They think of Asgore, and the pain in his face, and how much he only wanted for everyone to be happy.

They call out.

Someone comes.

///

They’ve SAVED everyone. The barrier is broken, and everyone is safe.

They’re on the surface.

Everyone is happy.

They look back, and something is tugging at their chest. They stop.

That…isn’t quite right.

There’s still someone who has to be SAVED.

Someone who’s still trapped, and lost, and alone.

They look at their friends, and find themself meeting Sans’ eyes. He looks…almost worried. Almost angry.

They close their eyes. The presence laughs.

_We’re playing again? How cruel, to rip away their happy ending._

They’ll reach that happy ending.

[RESET]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...AO3 won't let me modify to use wingdings. So you guys get italicized strikethroughs.  
> Sorry.


	4. you can light up the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Why do you keep trying?”_  
>  They don’t really have an answer.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

They shake their head. This is important, more than anything—they still have to SAVE him.

Asriel laughs, a little bitterly.

“Why do you keep trying?”

They pause, and he sighs.

“I know you’re not Chara; they were…they weren’t the best person.” For a moment, something so much _more_ flickers through his sad gaze. “So why do you keep trying? Why can’t you just…”

He sighs and dips his head into the yellow flowers. They take a step forward.

“Just go, Frisk.” He turns and smiles at them, and their heart twinges at the pain and resigned fear in that one expression. “You have better things to do with your time.”

They don’t, not really. They haven’t SAVED him yet, after all.

They step back, watching him as he turns back to the flowers. They still haven’t figured this all out.

But they will.

They [RESET].

///

_Look in the mirror._

The presence is insistent. They’re still in the Ruins, and they pause, cocking their head inquisitively.

_Just do it._

They do.

It isn’t them that’s looking back. The presence huffs, crimson eyes skittering away from meeting theirs.

They stand there, for a moment.

_Well?_

They smile. The presence growls. They turn away, amused.

Toriel’s baking cinnamon and butterscotch pie, and the smell wafts past. They step away, and the presence is quiet.

 _It wasn’t supposed to be him,_ it says suddenly. They stop. _It was supposed to be me._

They nod.

_I know. I’ll SAVE him._

The presence scoffs.

But that’s okay. They mean every word.

///

“why do you keep doing it?”

They turn. Sans is standing there, staring at them. His ever-present grin is turned down at the edges, and he looks almost-angry.

They look away, staring up at the glowing stones of the fake stars of Waterfall. They don’t answer.

They stand there for a long time.

///

They’re not sure how many times they’ve watched this sunset, watched the stars twinkle brightly above as the sun falls below the horizon.

Far too many to count, really.

But they just stand there, for a moment, letting the joy of their friends soak in. They think that maybe, just maybe, they could go on like this. Their friends happy and aboveground, living onwards into an effervescent future that is forever changing.

But they can’t.

Sans tugs them aside, sitting them down on the cliff edge.

“why do you keep doing it?” he asks, and they close their eyes. They don’t really know. “why can’t you just be _happy?_ ”

There aren’t any puns. They want to say _something, anything,_ because for all that they have been tearing everything away from Sans, from everyone, they still _care_.

They choke on the words.

They sit there, watching the sun set, the last few washes of peach and pink fading into blues and purples.

They reach back.

“Sorry,” they say, and Sans jolts. The words rasp uncomfortably in their throat. “Really sorry.”

Sans doesn’t have a chance to say anything else.

[RESET]

///

Sometimes, it takes a while for them to wake up.

Sometimes they wake up to wary smiles and Flowey’s tired resignation.

Sometimes they wake up to a sea of dust and agony, pain following in their wake.

_(they can feel their sins c r a w l i n g o n t h e i r b a c k)_

The presence stands in front of them, crimson eyes fiercely joyful in a terrible, terrible way.

 _I’ve won,_ it says. _I’ve won this little game._

They tilt their head, feeling something odd coiling in their chest.

 _Who are you?_ They ask.

_I am the demon that comes when you call its name._

( _you know you’re more than that, *******. You don’t have to be like that. Right, *****?)_

They blink, and the words fade away.

_Now, why don’t we destroy this world and move on? We can keep playing, and I can keep winning!_

They shake their head. The presence stops, crimson eyes narrowing.

_Who ever said you were the one in CONTROL?_

The presence lashes out, reaching for the power just beneath their skin, and they flinch back, gripping at that power tightly.

They both pull.

The world glitches for just a moment, and blue skies and yellow flowers flash behind their eyes like hazy memories half-forgotten.

They both [RESET].

///

They lay there on the yellow flowers for a moment, breathing in the sweet fragrance. The presence hisses.

They ignore the words.

They just lay there, grasping at those half-forgotten memories. The presence stops.

_Why…do you remember that?_

They shrug. They don’t know.

They lay there for a while. They’re not sure how long, but they just lay there on the soft flowers.

  _Chara._

They pause and tilt their head, just a bit, their hair haloing out around their face.

_My name. It’s Chara._

They smile.

_Nice to meet you, Chara._

Chara is silent for a moment.

_…I hate you._

They sit up. It’s progress—now, now they have to keep moving onwards. There’s still someone to SAVE.

_Why do you keep trying?_

They pause mid-step and bite their lip. They’re not really sure why. They just _do_.

They sort-of remember Asriel asking them something similar, once.

_“Why do you keep trying?”_

They don’t really have an answer.

Chara snorts.

They step forward. There are still things to do, secrets to find—someone to SAVE.

///

Asriel sighs and turns to them.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Frisk?”

They don’t, not really. He laughs, maybe a little bit bitterly.

“Why do you keep trying? I’m not worth it.”

They shake their head, and move forward. Asriel looks at them. They reach into themself, tugging at that familiar feeling that has hovered in their chest the entire time.

Their SOUL glows red in their palm, and Asriel flinches.

“Frisk?”

It shimmers like a heat-haze, and they can smell the cinnamon of the magic of it. They hold it out. Asriel shivers.

“I—I can’t take that, Frisk.” He says. “I just _can’t_. Go, be with your family.”

They frown, and reach forward, grasping his hand. He jumps.

“Frisk, no!”

But they’ve already done it, placing their SOUL in his hands.

Chara hisses as the world starts to fade out at the edges.

They think that maybe, this time, they’ve done it _right_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 500+ hits. Ohmygodyouguys.  
> AAAHHHHHH  
> 


	5. hope is so much stronger than fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What would you do, if I Fell?_  
> ...  
>  _I’d save you._

For a long time, there’s nothing. Just blackness and darkness and a void that surrounds them suffocatingly.

They can’t bring themself to care.

///

Their power curls languidly around them, velvety and warm.

They…

Words flutter away from their mind.

They sink back into that dark slumber.

///

_What would you do, if I Fell?_

The words echo. They tilt their head blankly. They hear their own voice laugh.

_I wouldn’t let you._

_But if I—if we—did?_

_I’d save you._

They can almost remember the words.

///

They twist in the grip of their power. They…want to _look._

A simple tug, and suddenly they _see._

Galaxies bloom into existence behind their eyes, stars lighting into existence and fizzling out into flashes of brilliant radiance as nebulae form and light floods the universe.

They’re not sure how long they are there, watching the universe live and die and live and die before their eyes.

What did they want to look at again?

They can’t remember.

///

Something catches their attention, eventually.

Time twists into knots, tangling and snarling around _something_.

They peer at it, prodding it curiously.

Flickers of yellow flowers and red eyes and soft smiles out of a furry face flash by.

They frown.

They don’t understand.

///

They keep watching. Part of the snarl is starting to resolve itself, unwinding and flowing back into normal time.

They poke at the knot again.

Colors flare, and they blink.

_Purple_

_Blue_

_Aqua_

_Green_

_Yellow_

_Orange_

_…_

_Red_

There’s something important there, they think.

…They can’t remember why.

Why can’t they remember?

///

_Why do you keep trying?_

The voices are quiet and sad, blending together.

It sounds familiar. Almost.

They look away, peering through the ripples of time itself, feeling their power curling around them like velvet.

For a flickering moment, they can remember dust like fine flour covering them like an announcement of their sins.

But what sins?

They just don’t understand.

///

They stare at the knot for a while. They turn away, preparing to speak—

—but there’s no one there.

Why had they thought someone would be there?

…It’s lonely. They want—they want—want—

…What do they want?

They can’t remember.

///

They try wrapping their power around the knot, trying to unwind it.

_It’s a beautiful day outside._

The words are loud, resonating out with a sort of casual menace.

_Birds are singing._

Why can they hear this?

_Flowers are blooming._

They shake, just a bit. Something’s _wrong_ —

_On days like these…_

—or, no, not wrong, but incorrect, warped—

_kids like you…_

—they twist, feeling the utter _wrongness_ of the knot grasping at them. Reality is—it’s—

_should be  B U R N I N G I N  H E L L._

They fall back into dark slumber.

///

Reality shakes.

They jerk. They sweep out with their power, searching for the source.

It’s the knot.

There’s a power there, shaking the foundations and sending ripples through the very fabric of reality.

They reach out, just a bit, to poke at it. What is this power?

All at once, a voice cries out.

_*****! Please, can you hear me?_

They tilt their head a bit, half-wanting to move away, half-wanting to move closer. They wind around the _wrongwrongwrong_ knot.

_I know you’re there! Just listen, okay?_

They frown, just a bit.

_We’re coming. We’re coming for you; you’re not alone, okay? You’re not alone!_

The voice gasps just a bit.

_I can’t—I can’t keep this up much longer. We have to go back again. But we’re coming! Just keep holding on!_

_Do you hear me, *****?_

But they’ve already turned away, feeling the voice—the power—fizzling out.

They turn back to the entirety of the rest of time-space-reality.

///

_~~You are fading.~~ _

The words crackle in their ears. They turn; black-white-gray-shape stands there, watching them with a sad, twisted smile.

_~~They are looking for you.~~ _

_~~They remember you, still.~~ _

They wind around him, stretching themself just a bit to observe him.

 _You’ve been shattered,_ they murmur, reaching toward him, to his pieces.

He— _it?_ —shifts back, shaking his-its head.

_~~I cannot be put back together. You must return.~~ _

But they ignore him and wind around his pieces, pushing them all together.

 _You can’t become part of time anymore,_ they whisper, thinking of space and time and nebulae and life and death.

_~~…No. I cannot.~~ _

_But you can exist wholly outside of such._

It’s tiring, thinking in ways that this poor, shattered being can understand, and they just want to communicate directly, the way they used to—

They pause, wanting to examine that thought. But they can’t, because the shattered remains of the being’s very _culmination,_ its very _soul_ in as much as it was, are tugging together, and they start piecing the being together.

It wasn’t meant to _see_ like they do, to be aware of _all_ and _everything_ and _nothing_.

Maybe…they can change him-it. Just a little.

With a tiny tug, it’s set.

The being shudders.

_~~They are coming for you. They still remember.~~ _

They don’t understand what the being means. They turn away, already splitting and flickering away as they split their _self_.

Such things are fluid, really.

///

The knot is slowly unwinding itself. But it’s still snarling up more and more.

They mutter as they poke at it, ignoring the flickers of _feeling_ that come from it.

Eventually, they turn away.

They don’t want to understand.

( _they’re afraid.)_

///

They keep coming back. There’s just something about that knot in reality, in time itself—

They just want it to unwind, to unsnarl and for the fabric of reality to return to normal.

They tug at their power, gathering it, twining it around the knot.

The power hums around them, warm and soft and velvety, and they direct the surges forward, into the knot.

For a single, blinding, moment, everything goes white and flickers out.

_(The key turns in the lock.)_

Memories are flashing by before their eyes, and suddenly they _understand,_ and they tremble, because they’re afraid.

There are still two people to SAVE.

But they’ve already done everything, _everything_ , thrown away the universe to SAVE them and they’ve failed, and what will happen now if they let go again?

_What would you do, if I Fell?_

They gulp, and tug their power close. They remember so much now, and they’re terrified; they’re terrified, and they don’t even know if their plan will ever even work, because it hasn’t worked at all even though they’ve been trying for what feels like forever.

But they still remember what they said, so long ago, to that _other_ that had-has always been there, to the _other two_ , because they were never meant to be alone.

_I’d save you._

There’s only a miniscule chance of this working, and if it doesn’t—they’ll be trapped again, memory-less and blank, wandering through that knot forever more as reality warps around the three of them.

But there’s still a chance. A tiny, vague hope.

They swallow, and tug their power into their form.

They Fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...We're getting close to the end. Maybe one or two more chapters and then the epilogue.  
>  On another note:  
> OVER 600 HITS WTF YOU GUYS I CAN'T EVEN RIGHT NOW  
> IN THREE DAYS. OHMYGODYOUGUYS AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH  
> *coughs*  
> On another note, many thanks to those who have given kudos, bookmarked, and/or reviewed this story. It means a lot.


	6. burning brighter than ever before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s yours, Frisk,” he says. “Take it. I can’t keep it.”  
> They shake their head.

There’s light, everywhere. They cringe away, feeling themself slowly being stuffed into a _shape_ where they had only _been_ before.

They’ve Fallen before.

It doesn’t make it any easier now.

But there’s still so much to do, and they can’t help the swell of hope that lifts inside them, dragging them ever onwards, into that blazingly bright light.

///

“JUST LET ME WIN!!!”

The agonized cry takes them off guard as they swirl into a form. The words are familiar, and they step forward, breathing in air and marveling at the sensation of being _physical_ again.

And then they see their mirror image, choppy brown hair, tanned skin, stepping forward, squinting, reaching out for the raging form of Asriel.

Crimson eyes glitter in the kaleidoscopic lights.

They step forward.

They still have two people to SAVE.

It helps that they’re right in front of them.

///

The two are surprised when they snatch both of their hands, stopping mid-fight.

It is Chara that speaks first.

“Frisk?”

It’s strange, to hear their once-twin speaking their name into the air after so long of only hearing that voice in their head. Asriel trembles, power shivering in the air.

“What? You—no—”

They don’t have much time, and they smile at the two.

“No time,” they say, and the words don’t grate as much as they had thought they would. Asriel shakes, and glows, releasing the form he has assumed.

He stares at them, wide-eyed and disbelieving.

“You—you _disappeared!_ ” he cries, and they wince, seeing the tears flooding his burgundy eyes.

“Didn’t mean to,” they say simply, and brush their power up gently against his. “Had no choice.”

Chara takes a deep breath.

“How did you get back?” they ask, squeezing at their hand. They shrug.

“Fell.”

And it does explain everything, even if the two don’t truly understand the meaning behind the simple word.

///

One by one, Asriel slowly releases the SOULS that he has taken, gripping onto their hands tightly. Chara scoffs, but doesn’t say anything.

They try not to shake, to hold in the horrible shivers that are coursing down their spine. They weren’t meant to be everything that they truly are and still be in the mortal plane; their powers chafe at the fabric of reality, warping everything around them, and they can feel everything starting to split at the edges.

Soon, all too soon, they will have to release their power, seal it away again, and with it the memories that have driven them.

Eventually, Asriel is finished, and stands there for a moment, hand to his chest.

They realize what he is doing as the red glow suffuses their surroundings.

Their SOUL—once-SOUL, really—hovers just above his palm, and he stares at them sorrowfully.

“It’s yours, Frisk,” he says. “Take it. I can’t keep it.”

They shake their head.

“Frisk!” he exclaims, reaching forward. “Please!”

They smile at him, and take a deep breath. Chara freezes.

“Stop it, Asriel,” they command, and he looks at them.

“But--!”

“If they wanted it back, they would have taken it by now,” they chide him. Chara looks them up and down. They smile even wider, and with a tiny fraction of effort, withdraw their SOUL.

They both breathe in sharply.

It’s small and red, their signature sweet-spicy smell of cinnamon wafting gently forth as their power coalesces slowly, beginning to form their new SOUL.

It’s not finished, and won’t be for a while yet, not until they let go of what they are to sink back into the way mortals experience reality.

“…How do you have a SOUL?” Chara asks quietly. “You _gave_ yours to Asriel.”

“Complicated.”

Chara huffs.

“You’re _going_ to explain.”

They smile. Even without their full memories, their once-and-always-twin is still their-self, fierce and strong and demanding.

They wouldn’t have it any other way.

///

It’s dark and black, and for a moment that lasts an eternity they stand there, breathing.

They have to let go, soon, but they don’t want to. They want to just be here, for a while, feeling the other two there and just _being_.

They can’t, of course, but they want to. They don’t want to let go, only to find themself in a timeline where they’ve been erased for so long that its unlikely even Sans remembers them—and if he does, its likely only as a vague feeling of déjà vu.

Only Chara and Asriel will really remember them.

Strangely, it’s almost all right when they think about it that way.

A shudder wracks their body, their power starting to rip at the fabric of the universe. They have to let go, and soon; they don’t have much more time.

“Frisk?!”

They don’t answer, instead gathering their power into them just a little bit more.

There’s still one thing that they have to do.

///

It’s a heady rush as they unleash the power that sings in their veins, giving it a single, simple direction as they point it all at the pulsating magic of the barrier.

The magic of the barrier shrieks and shudders, keening under the weight of the power of something not-human but not-monster either.

The power of something _more_.

Their power takes easily to the task, and is crushing the magic, ripping away at it in a frenzy of obedience.

They’re vaguely aware of the fact that they’re maybe-glowing a bit, and that the smell of cinnamon is pungent and strong around them.

But it isn’t going fast enough—they can already feel their grasp on the truth of their memories slip-slip- _slipping_ away like smoke in the wind.

They breathe deeply, and _call_.

They come.

The SOULS are bright and rainbow-colored, arranging themselves around them in a circle, pulsating. And why wouldn’t they come? They are, after all, once-SOULs of theirs too.

Each contains just a fragment of their power, resonating in tune with the power currently lashing at the powerful magic of the barrier.

They pull at that power, determined to break the cruel enchantment once and for all.

The power hums in the not-air, and they’re sort-of aware of Chara and Asriel staring at them wide-eyed as they glow in the rainbow light, but they don’t care.

They push the power forward, giving a single, precise order.

_Destroy the barrier._

The power attacks, joining the already writhing force surrounding the magic of the barrier.

There’s a keening, wailing _shriek,_ and everything pulses—once, twice, thrice—

Everything goes white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is seriously hard to keep differences between Chara and Frisk apparent when I write them like this. I mean, they're both 'they's, and well....yeah.  
> I hope you guys are enjoying this; it's pretty much a _really_ self-indulgent fic, but I hope you're enjoying it anyway.  
>  *looks at hit count*  
> *chokes*  
> *devolves into incoherent screaming and runs away*  
> You guys are amazing. Seriously.


	7. don't stop, march on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There are some rules in the universe that cannot be circumvented, cannot be avoided, cannot be broken._
> 
> _Some rules that are unbreakable, absolute._

For a tiny fraction of a millisecond, they can feel it.

Time itself is closing in around them, pulling at them, washing them away it its current.

They can feel their _true_ memories, their knowledge of just what they are, slipslip _slipping_ out of their grasp; they shift, letting the disconcerting sensation wash over them.

But there’s something wrong—

—Time itself sweeps over them with all the force of a tidal wave and they’re _drowning in it they can’t breathe—_

—all that power, those six other SOULS _and what can they do? Nothing nothing nothingnothingnothing_ —

—this is all their fault—

They scream into the void.

B u t n o b o d y c a m e .

///

_Everything_ flickers before their eyes, millions upon millions upon millions of fragments of infinite timelines, infinite alternate universes.

It is everything and nothing all at once and it is a sight not meant for mortal eyes.

But they’re not mortal, are they? Aren’t they?

—they can’t remember.

///

They’re shattering, fragmenting into so many little pieces and it _hurtshurtshurts_. But there isn’t anything they can do, their power is gone and they’re nothing against this—

Except maybe there is.

_He_ is there, so much more and so much less than they are, and he reaches to them and places cold hands on their face.

_~~As you once helped me…~~ _

He speaks in a low voice that resonates through _everything_.

_~~I will help you.~~ _

///

They don’t want to. They’re clinging and grasping with everything they have, and they can tell that it’s destroying them, but they don’t want to.

_~~It is okay.~~ _

They breathe in, still clutching.

_~~You are not alone.~~ _

The breath shudders its way out of their lungs, and the duality of being and not being _hurts_ like acid in a raw wound.

_~~You are never alone.~~ _

///

T h e y l e t g o .

///

It’s dark and void and maybe they should be afraid, but they’re not.

They’re at ease, lax and blank in the darkness.

After all…

…it’s not like they’ve known anything else.

///

Something sweet and spicy floats by, wreathing around them, and for a moment they can _smell_ , and they breathe it in.

They think that maybe, just maybe, they like the smell.

( _somewhere in the back of their mind, a tiny part of them, a tiny voice, whispers ‘cinnamon’. They don’t hear it.)_

_///_

They wake up to yellow flowers and a tiny, grayed out sun that shines weakly down to them. They blink, taking a moment to process.

Then they realize, and something inside of them breaks, and they have to choke back hot, agonizing tears, because this isn’t right it isn’t it isn’t it isn’t, but they _don’t know why_.

They don’t even know why they’re crying.

They just are.

Their tears drip hotly down their cheeks, glinting like gems on the petals of the yellow flowers.

The sweet smell of butterscotch fills their nose.

They choke back a sob. _None_ of this is right.

They just can’t remember _why._

///

_There are some rules in the universe that cannot be circumvented, cannot be avoided, cannot be broken._

_Some rules that are unbreakable, absolute._

_…_

_…_

_…_

_Even for gods._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of this part. But there is going to be a sequel--two, in fact. Each from a different point of view, happening at approximately the same time.  
> Also, any guesses as to just _what_ Frisk, Chara, and Asriel really are? I've been dropping hints, but I'm not sure how clear I've been.  
>  EDIT:  
> So it's come to my attention just how cryptic I've actually been. I don't want to drop the bombs right now, since it's going to be revealed explicitly in the twin-sequels, however I will include some hints that might help.  
> 1) This ENTIRE fic is from Frisk's point of view. That's right, even Chapters 1 and 5.  
> 2) There are mentions of mortality, and Frisk doubting whether they are mortal, and also of Frisk _becoming_ mortal. Take from that what you will.  
>  3) The very last line of the fic, in Chapter 7, is very relevant, and put there for a reason.  
> 4) There is a reason that this fic is inspired by the lovely Kamary's _Temporal Nonsense_. If you haven't read it, you should. It's amazing.
> 
> I hope that helps you all in understanding this a bit better.

**Author's Note:**

> welp. I've been sucked so far into this fandom that I doubt I'll ever crawl out...so. Enjoy this hopefully short fic.  
> (title from [ this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73_o_dOCmS4) and fic mildly inspired by [ Temporal Nonsense](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5317772) by [ Kamary](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamary/pseuds/Kamary) and aforementioned video link.)


End file.
